Birthday ficlet!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LAURA (disarm_d)!
So, I really, really wanted to finish the bodyswap fic for you, but then cat!fic happened, and yeah. I fail. BUT, the whole Brendon-up-against-a-wall thing I mentioned?
It's a little disconcerting how tired he is now after just one show, when months ago his body could go for days and days with little to no sleep. Brendon knows it's a tolerance thing, like alcohol; you gotta build your resistance back.
But he's tired, drained, and wanting sleep like nobody's business. Spencer drives him home after the concert that night, and Brendon actually passes out against the window. He blinks awake to the feel of Spencer's hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently and laughing.
"You're drooling," he says softly.
Brendon wipes at his mouth without thinking. His chin's dry.
"You little fucker," he mumbles around a yawn, and Spencer laughs again as he gets out and walks around the car, opening Brendon's door. He pulls him to his feet by his elbow, his other hand curled affectionately around Brendon's neck.
"Should I walk you to the door? I'm worried I'm just gonna find you passed out on the lawn tomorrow morning."
"I'm tired, not drunk, shut up." But he leans into Spencer's side and lets him guide him up the walk to the front door. He fumbles with his keys for a moment, and when the door's finally open and the hall light is on, Brendon sighs, happily. He loves being home.
"Don't sleep in your clothes," Spencer says, and there's a warmth in his eyes, like he completely, one hundred percent knows what Brendon's thinking.
"Mmm, naked sleeping's so much fun." He smirks at Spencer, leans up with the intention of giving him a tiny, quick kiss. Their mouths press together, and then Brendon sort of forgets to pull back. Spencer sort of forgets to let go.
He truly was bone-tired a second ago, but now - now he has Spencer's tongue in his mouth and Spencer's hands curled around his waist (god, his hands), and suddenly sleep seems very inconsequential. Brendon stumbles back over the entryway, tugging Spencer with him by the front of his shirt, and they end up slamming back against the wall by the coat rack.
"Coat rack, Brendon, the hell," Spencer huffs into his mouth. "What are you, fucking seventy?"
"They - they're - useful, okay?" He can't glare at him like he wants to, not when Spencer pins his hips against the wall and grinds into him, smiling with satisfaction when Brendon's head drops back with a loud whump and he moans loudly.
He'd love to go down on Spencer, but it's the whole exhaustion/brain blur/Spencer's hands thing that kind of renders him incapacitated. Spencer doesn't seem to mind, though. He just sets a rhythm (because hey, that's what he's good at, that's his job), rolls into Brendon both easy and steady, harder when Brendon whimpers for it, slower when Brendon sighs and slides his hands up into Spencer's hair and pulls him back into a kiss. He fucking hates the Gomez Addam's beard, but he loves the burn it leaves on his skin. Sometimes Brendon almost convinces himself that's why Spencer keeps it.
He feels the tightening of heat low in his stomach too soon, much too soon. Brendon gasps, tries to slow Spencer's thrusts up against him with the press of his hands to his chest. "I'm gonna - Spence, I'm too - "
"'s past your bedtime, anyway," Spencer growls back, bites at Brendon's lower lip as he grinds faster.
Brendon's in no position to argue.
It's like a wave, bright and sharp, his knuckles going white as he holds onto Spencer to keep from sliding down the wall. He can feel the second Spencer follows after him, the momentary pause and shudder through his skin. Eventually Spencer slides his hands further back, hugs Brendon to his chest. He tucks his chin into the curve of Brendon's shoulder.
"Sleepover," he mumbles, and Brendon smiles, eyes closed.
"Can you make it up the stairs?"
"Mmmph." Spencer nuzzles at his jaw before he takes his hand, tugs him down the hall to the downstairs bathroom. "Shower first."
Brendon doesn't have any towels down here. But right now, he couldn't care less.
So, I really, really wanted to finish the bodyswap fic for you, but then cat!fic happened, and yeah. I fail. BUT, the whole Brendon-up-against-a-wall thing I mentioned?
It's a little disconcerting how tired he is now after just one show, when months ago his body could go for days and days with little to no sleep. Brendon knows it's a tolerance thing, like alcohol; you gotta build your resistance back.
But he's tired, drained, and wanting sleep like nobody's business. Spencer drives him home after the concert that night, and Brendon actually passes out against the window. He blinks awake to the feel of Spencer's hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently and laughing.
"You're drooling," he says softly.
Brendon wipes at his mouth without thinking. His chin's dry.
"You little fucker," he mumbles around a yawn, and Spencer laughs again as he gets out and walks around the car, opening Brendon's door. He pulls him to his feet by his elbow, his other hand curled affectionately around Brendon's neck.
"Should I walk you to the door? I'm worried I'm just gonna find you passed out on the lawn tomorrow morning."
"I'm tired, not drunk, shut up." But he leans into Spencer's side and lets him guide him up the walk to the front door. He fumbles with his keys for a moment, and when the door's finally open and the hall light is on, Brendon sighs, happily. He loves being home.
"Don't sleep in your clothes," Spencer says, and there's a warmth in his eyes, like he completely, one hundred percent knows what Brendon's thinking.
"Mmm, naked sleeping's so much fun." He smirks at Spencer, leans up with the intention of giving him a tiny, quick kiss. Their mouths press together, and then Brendon sort of forgets to pull back. Spencer sort of forgets to let go.
He truly was bone-tired a second ago, but now - now he has Spencer's tongue in his mouth and Spencer's hands curled around his waist (god, his hands), and suddenly sleep seems very inconsequential. Brendon stumbles back over the entryway, tugging Spencer with him by the front of his shirt, and they end up slamming back against the wall by the coat rack.
"Coat rack, Brendon, the hell," Spencer huffs into his mouth. "What are you, fucking seventy?"
"They - they're - useful, okay?" He can't glare at him like he wants to, not when Spencer pins his hips against the wall and grinds into him, smiling with satisfaction when Brendon's head drops back with a loud whump and he moans loudly.
He'd love to go down on Spencer, but it's the whole exhaustion/brain blur/Spencer's hands thing that kind of renders him incapacitated. Spencer doesn't seem to mind, though. He just sets a rhythm (because hey, that's what he's good at, that's his job), rolls into Brendon both easy and steady, harder when Brendon whimpers for it, slower when Brendon sighs and slides his hands up into Spencer's hair and pulls him back into a kiss. He fucking hates the Gomez Addam's beard, but he loves the burn it leaves on his skin. Sometimes Brendon almost convinces himself that's why Spencer keeps it.
He feels the tightening of heat low in his stomach too soon, much too soon. Brendon gasps, tries to slow Spencer's thrusts up against him with the press of his hands to his chest. "I'm gonna - Spence, I'm too - "
"'s past your bedtime, anyway," Spencer growls back, bites at Brendon's lower lip as he grinds faster.
Brendon's in no position to argue.
It's like a wave, bright and sharp, his knuckles going white as he holds onto Spencer to keep from sliding down the wall. He can feel the second Spencer follows after him, the momentary pause and shudder through his skin. Eventually Spencer slides his hands further back, hugs Brendon to his chest. He tucks his chin into the curve of Brendon's shoulder.
"Sleepover," he mumbles, and Brendon smiles, eyes closed.
"Can you make it up the stairs?"
"Mmmph." Spencer nuzzles at his jaw before he takes his hand, tugs him down the hall to the downstairs bathroom. "Shower first."
Brendon doesn't have any towels down here. But right now, he couldn't care less.